It is interesting to me how things that happen to us in a given day can affect what we dream of. I have had two very different dreams in the last two nights.
On Tuesday night, I went with Kelly to see a movie called “The Business of Being Born” which was a great movie about home birth verses hospital birth and such. That night I had a dream that I was pregnant.
I did not know who the father was and really, I had no idea how I had even gotten pregnant. Not that it was virgin birth or anything but I hadn’t had sex in over two years. I briefly thought that Micah must be the father, which just makes me laugh thinking about it. But there I was, going to prenatal visits with a midwife (I was going to have a home birth). I think I went to a couple of them in the course of the dream. I remember one being in a small space, almost like an RV or mobile home, and Kelly was there with me, though I wasn’t living in Virginia. The midwife asked me after one visit if I had told my mom that I was pregnant and I couldn’t remember. I had a strange feeling of being ashamed that I was pregnant because I wasn’t married and almost dreading the idea of telling people, though I was also so joyful about it. Then there was a point where I was half conscious and realizing that I was dreaming and felt a relief that I wouldn’t really have to tell people. There were some other random happenings dispersed in there that I don’t remember. I woke up looking forward to the prospect of being pregnant and have a joyful and beautiful home birth one day in the future.
Last night was a different story. I went to a show in DC last night to see Chuck Ragan of Hot Water Music and Ben Nichols of Lucero and I missed the last Metro train to where my car was parked and there were no busses going there either. It was 12:30 in the morning. So I walked about seven blocks before I hailed a cab and took that to my car.
I dreamt that I was walking in a rough neighborhood of DC over big cracks in the sidewalk and as I passed a big green dumpster on the street side of the sidewalk and an alley way, a dark blue, old Toyota pick-up truck drove by slowly and a man in a brown plaid, long sleeve, button-up shirt stuck a small silver revolver out of the window. There was a split second where I noticed what was happening and watched in slow-motion as the car came into view, the barrel of the gun stick out the window and briefly glisten under the street lights, the man’s face shrouded in darkness, and as I turned towards the street, I heard the loud crack of gunshots. He shot me twice, in the stomach and the chest/shoulder area on the right side and I fell down, also in slow motion. I heard the thud of my body hitting the ground and then everything went black. I felt a dull pain overtaking my whole torso, not a sharp pain like I expected. I thought that I had been shot in the heart and I was unsure if I was going to die or not. While I was trying to figure out if I was dead, I could hear other people talking around me in a way that almost sounded like they were on TV, talking about the incident after the fact, saying that they couldn’t believe the guy had done that. He was someone that I knew by name, a guy that was part of the same circle of people I hung with, someone who apparently had snapped over something. I don’t know if he went after me deliberately or not.
I vaguely remember being bandaged and going to the police station to view a line up and try to identify the guy that did it. There was also a point when I was lying there and hearing people talk that I remembered the only other dream I have had where I got shot, one I had probably 10 years ago but a dream I still vividly remember. I was never afraid at any point in either dream, just observant as to how it all felt.
It’s interesting to me how much (and how little) you can rememer about some dreams. Colors, textures, people’s clothing, scenery… Dreams are a strange thing.